by Jim C. Hines
The ogre didn’t seem to notice. She kicked Inga’s shield. Inga fell back, her shoulder throbbing. Even for an ogre, Headstrong was ridiculously strong.
“Watch that shield,” cried one of the noggins.
“Mind the rocks,” said another. “If you fall, you’ll crush old Scratcher.”
“Hit her with the axe! Then hit her with the other one!”
Inga twirled her blade overhead to draw Headstrong’s attention. At the same time, Bulwark’s power warmed her arm. The phantom shield smashed forwards, sending the ogre tumbling hard onto the rocks below. It looked like Bulwark had bloodied the noses of at least two noggins.
“I told you to watch the shield!” grumbled one.
Muffled shouts came from the noggin Headstrong had landed on. Inga guessed that would be Scratcher. She shifted her stance and redoubled her assault, using the higher ground to add power to her strikes.
“Hit her legs,” said the same noggin. “Chop her down like a tree, then split her for kindling!”
“Naw, take out the ground under her,” argued another.
Headstrong jumped back and swung low, striking the stone beneath Inga’s feet. The blow chipped the blade of the axe, but the rocks shifted. Inga staggered, off balance.
“Now!” yelled the first noggin.
Inga blocked the next swing, but the impact knocked her onto her back. She slid down several feet, which put her directly into the path of the second axe. She braced Bulwark.
It felt like a horse had landed on her. If not for Bulwark’s power, Inga had no doubt the blow would have split her and the shield both.
A second strike followed, and when that too failed to kill her, Headstrong simply threw herself atop Bulwark and Inga. The weight crushed the air from her lungs. Her sword was useless from this angle. She didn’t have enough power to penetrate the ogre’s thick hide.
“Granny warned me about days like this.” Each time she exhaled, it got harder to draw another breath. The noggins were shouting and laughing. Sparks flashed at the edge of her vision.
She dropped her sword, reached past Bulwark, tightened her fist around the ogre’s ear, and twisted hard.
Headstrong howled, and the pressure eased.
“Like Old Farmer Bristles used to say, control the head and the body will follow.” Inga yanked down and to the side, twisting her fingers deeper into the greasy cartilage of the ogre’s ear. Headstrong rolled off her. Unfortunately, she rolled right onto Inga’s discarded sword. Had Inga been a luckier woman, the ogre would have run herself through in the process. Instead, she simply trapped the blade where Inga couldn’t get to it.
Inga pushed herself up and kicked the ogre in the side of the head. The impact nearly broke her toes. “That bloody hurts.”
“I’ll show you bloody,” Headstrong roared, and climbed to her feet.
Inga jumped back to avoid another swipe of those axes. “What’s Yog doing?” she shouted, keeping her attention on the ogre. She had lost track of the hut during the fight.
“She’s on the wall, circling the lake,” Leech yelled. “Probably searching for the boy. Glory’s holding her back. I’m trying to keep her bones off us.”
Headstrong kicked Inga’s sword away. She and her noggins wore disturbingly similar smiles, hungry and sadistic. “You got her now,” said one. “Take your time. Don’t get stupid.”
“Too late,” crowed another. Headstrong thumped that one with the handle of her axe.
Inga used the opening to jump forwards and seize the haft of the axe. She tried to twist it out of Headstrong’s hand, but the ogre’s grip was like iron. Inga had to let go or be pulled off her feet.
“That’s it,” said the one-eyed noggin. “Slow and steady.”
Inga snatched up a broken fragment of rock and threw it at the noggin, breaking the bulbous nose.
“Kill that bloody human!” it roared.
Headstrong raised both weapons and smashed them down on Inga’s shield.
Inga still had the high ground, giving her leverage against Headstrong’s greater strength. More important, it put Headstrong at just the right height for Inga to force the shield higher, then ram the lower edge into the ogre’s throat.
Headstrong staggered and dropped one of her axes.
“Way to go, lard-fingers,” said another noggin.
Inga followed up with her shield, knocking Headstrong back, then snatched up her sword. Both she and the ogre were breathing hard. Sweat painted wisps of hair to Inga’s face. She readied her sword—
“Ben!”
The cry came from Greta, and she sounded terrified. Inga kicked Headstrong in the eye, then scrambled to the top of the wall and looked in at the lake.
Ben was bobbing in the water, fully human once more. Yog’s hut perched like an insect on the edge of the dam. Yog must have transformed him to his natural shape, and from the looks of it, he wasn’t much of a swimmer. Either that or he was having trouble controlling his limbs after his time as a doll.
She heard the stone crunching under Headstrong’s feet and spun to ward off that enormous axe. “Leech, can you get to Ben?”
“Not without losing control of Yog’s bones,” Leech shouted.
Glory was too busy flinging magic at Yog’s hut. If she went after Ben, who knew what the old witch would do.
Inga was confident she could beat Headstrong in time, but Ben didn’t have time. Yet she couldn’t retreat, either. If she tried to disengage, that axe would split her spine.
There was a sharp thump, and the ogre’s head jerked to the side. A black-shafted arrow pierced her nose like an obscenely misplaced moustache. Headstrong’s yellow eyes crossed, trying to focus.
“I’ve got this!” Shroud nocked another arrow as he jogged along the top of the wall towards them. “Go!”
Inga started running. Greta was swimming towards her brother, but a group of redcap skullchuckers had spotted her from the ruins of the watchtower. Bone and rock splashed the water.
Behind Inga, another arrow thudded into the ogre, who roared. Inga sheathed her sword and made her way to the watchtower. She pulled herself up onto the platform behind the redcaps, who were laughing and pointing at the struggling children.
Ben bobbed in the water, his arms pressing down at his sides, his mouth dipping below the surface again and again. His efforts grew noticeably weaker, but Greta was almost there. A redcap picked up a skull with some sort of explosive mixture inside and looked about, presumably searching for a way to light the fuse.
Inga cleared her throat. The four redcaps jumped, with one nearly falling off the tower.
“Those kids are friends of mine.” Inga couldn’t recall the last time she had been this angry. Fighting was one thing, but to make sport out of trying to kill two children …
“Aw, yoos all banter,” said the closest redcap. “Attack!”
Inga smiled and raised her shield. She could feel Bulwark’s fury, as hot as her own and begging for release. The shield began to glow.
The redcaps hesitated.
Phantom shields shot out, smashing redcaps and the remnants of the tower alike. Splintered wood and screaming redcaps flew in all directions. Two redcaps splashed into the water. The others hit the ground outside. One exploded on impact.
Inga jumped after the two in the water. It was a bit of a drop, but she used a redcap to break her fall. She landed in the knee-deep water, snatched the other by the shirt, and threw him against the wall.
Greta had reached her brother and was struggling towards the shore, but she was bleeding from a cut on her forehead, and Ben was flailing. His panic could drown them both.
“Come on, Bulwark,” said Inga. “Let’s bring them in.”
A spectral fist reached over the water to grasp both children. Inga normally used this trick to haul her enemies in for a good thrashing, but this time the shield was far more careful. Within seconds, Inga was helping Ben and Greta out of the water. She pulled them towards the collapsed section of wall. Be
n coughed and gagged, but he was alive.
“Well done, Greta.” Inga wrapped the girl in a one-armed hug. “You’re as heroic as anyone I’ve met back in Wendleglass Hall.”
“Thanks.” Greta was shivering, but her voice sounded stronger, more confident.
Inga looked around. The other Heroes were keeping Yog busy. As for Headstrong—Inga craned her head, but there was no sign of Shroud or the ogre. “Can you walk?”
Greta nodded. Inga scooped Ben up in one arm and waded along the inside of the wall, towards the gate. Greta kept a hand on Bulwark for support.
Rook sat with his crossbow in hand, with several extra quivers piled beside him. He didn’t ask any questions. He simply nodded and said, “I’ll keep them safe.”
“Stay inside the gate.” Inga ran a hand over her scalp, pushing her hair from her face. So long as Ben and Greta were within Grayrock’s walls, Yog’s curse should remain. “Don’t worry. We won’t let Yog hurt either of you again.”
Inga returned to the top of the wall. While she had been helping save Ben, the hut had gotten the upper hand—upper stilt, rather—with Leech and Glory, knocking them off the wall and chasing them into the clearing outside. Each of the wooden legs was as thick as a man’s arm, but they moved as fast as whips.
Skulls were scattered over the ground. Others floated away in the river. It looked like Leech had stopped more than half of Yog’s skeletal defences. The rest clung to the walls of the hut, the bones lending strength and armour of a sort to her walking home. Glory’s magical assault didn’t appear to be slowing the hut down. Each strike flowed past bone and wood like grease from a hot frying pan.
“I’ll be right there,” Inga shouted.
The hut caught Leech in the leg, knocking him down. His femur was visibly broken, but he didn’t cry out. He stretched out one hand, placed the other against the break, and shoved. “Soon would be good, if it’s all the same to you!”
When she was a child, Inga would have charged headfirst into battle to protect her friends, punching and kicking until either she or her opponent—usually the latter—went down and stayed there. True, she did that a lot as an adult, too. But what good would a sword be against an enemy like this? You didn’t cut down a tree with a pocketknife.
Inga searched the rocks where she had battled Headstrong. The ogre had dropped one of her axes. If it remained …
There, half-buried in the rocks. Inga grabbed the handle and yanked it free.
An ogre could wield this thing one-handed, but if Inga wanted any power or control, she would need both. Reluctantly, she removed Bulwark from her arm and set it on the ground. She gripped the axe with both hands and tested its weight.
“This ought to do it.” Now she charged headfirst into the battle.
A bruised and bloody redcap saw her coming, squeaked in alarm, and fled for the woods.
Inga raised her axe as she neared the hut, but the hut lashed out with one of its rear legs before she could swing. She twisted, and the blow grazed her ribs.
“It’s quicker than it looks,” Glory warned.
“I can see that, thanks.” Inga fell back from a second attack. With four legs, the hut could only strike with one at a time without losing its balance. Inga kept her distance, trying to get a sense of its rhythm. There was a pause after each swing to recover.
A pair of skulls detached from the edge of the roof and flew towards her. One dropped and rolled into the mud, thanks to Leech. Inga shattered the other with her axe.
She darted left, then right, getting inside the hut’s reach long enough to slam the axe into the closest leg. The blade bit the wood, then the hut twisted, nearly wrenching the weapon from her hands. Inga held tight. The blade ripped loose. Inga stumbled back, off balance. The hut lashed out again, and she fell.
Her back hit the ground, and the air exploded from her chest. Her armour had likely saved her from a broken back, but she would be feeling that in her spine for the next few days. “This is why Mum wanted me to stay home.”
She pushed herself up and moved towards the hut. There was no way of sneaking up on it, as the thing had no front or back. She couldn’t tell which leg she’d struck, let alone target a second attack to the same spot. She needed to find a way to take this thing down in one swing.
“Stay back,” she called to Leech and Glory. She slowed her breathing, trying to let the sounds of battle flow past her. The laughter of the few remaining redcaps. The creaks and thuds of the hut, and the clattering of its contents. Her focus narrowed, like she was watching the hut through a sighting tube. The sky, the river, the trees beyond, everything else faded from her awareness.
Three of her friends were imprisoned inside that hut. They would die at Yog’s hands if she didn’t take it down.
Bones peeled away and flew towards the gate. Towards Ben and Greta.
Inga tightened her grip and waited. One leg hummed through the air, close enough for her to feel the wind. She backed away, drawing Yog in. Let Yog think she was injured and retreating.
She focused on a single leg, watching it bend and straighten. There were no knees or hinges, but the wood bent most sharply in two places, both near the centre. Each joint was marked by a round knot. She chose the higher of the two.
One hand gripped the axe high, the other low. The moment the hut stepped closer, Inga charged. There would be no swerving this time, no dodging aside. The hut swung, and Inga blocked with the haft of her weapon. The impact jarred her shoulders, but this axe had endured an ogre’s power and ferocity without breaking. Inga spun in a full circle, adding the axe’s weight to her own strength and momentum, concentrating only on that dark knot in the wood.
The axe cut cleanly through the leg, sending splinters flying. The weight of the blow spun Inga off her feet. She rolled out of the hut’s reach. Behind her, Leech gave a cheer as the hut staggered, off balance.
Inga had seen her share of crippled animals growing up. Most of them got along just fine with a missing leg. Her favourite had been a little black pup who was born without front legs but had learned to hop from house to house, begging for scraps.
But the hut’s centre of balance was higher than that of an animal, and it didn’t seem to understand what had happened. It toppled to the left, trying to catch itself on its missing leg. An indignant shriek came from the inside. The remaining legs continued to kick, but it couldn’t get itself upright again. Instead, it simply dragged itself in a slow circle. The remaining bones flew away like rats from a sinking ship.
“Nice hit,” said Glory.
“Thanks.” Inga wondered how long the hut would keep spinning before it tired. The remaining legs could still break bone if anyone got too close.
Leech braced his leg with one hand as he downed a potion. The tension in his body visibly eased. “What happened to Shroud?”
“He went after Headstrong.” Inga shouldered the axe. “Why don’t you two finish off the last of Yog’s flying bones while I crack open this walnut and get our friends back?”
CHAPTER 22
SHROUD
Shroud crouched to touch a dark stain in the dirt. He brought his fingers to the tip of his tongue. The salty-iron taste of blood confirmed Headstrong had come this way.
The Conclave wants this ogre dead. Why didn’t you put an arrow through her neck when you had the chance instead of just giving her the world’s ugliest nose jewellery?
Shroud had hit her several times, but none of his shots had severed any major arteries. Judging from the amount of blood on the trail, all he had likely accomplished so far was to make her angry.
She’s playing it smart, taking the fight to an environment that will neutralise the advantage of your bow. And you’re letting her lead you along like a cow to the butcher.
Headstrong had fled north, running through the woods until she reached a spot where the river was shallow enough to cross, at which point she’d doubled back into the hills. The landscape grew steadily steeper, with a drop-off to Shroud’s l
eft.
Your orders come directly from the Conclave. If you want them to take you seriously, finish the job. Eliminate the target and bring back proof of the kill. Otherwise, the next warrant will list you as the target.
Shroud checked every tree and outcropping for signs of an ambush. Most ogres didn’t bother with traps, but then, this was no ordinary ogre, was it? Watching her fight Inga had confirmed it. The way she brought both axes together to block Inga’s sword, or the transition into a Low Cat stance when she started to lose her balance. Though those moves been clumsy and poorly executed, Shroud still recognised them from the Conclave’s Martial Doctrine. But how had an ogre learned them?
He felt the pressure of the trip wire against his shin. Instinct and training propelled him into a leaping roll as a dart tore through the hem of his cloak. Poisoned and barbed, no doubt. He rose into a crouch, knives in both hands.
The odds of a hastily set trip wire killing a Conclave-trained assassin were slim, which meant Headstrong was trying either to slow him down so she could escape, or else to distract him in order to get the drop on him. And she didn’t strike Shroud as one to run away if there was any chance to inflict more bloodshed.
By the time he consciously registered the sound of shifting pebbles ahead, he was already throwing himself to the ground. The rock that would have crushed his skull flew over his head to crack a sapling that clung to the rise behind him. Shroud spun so his feet were pointed at the approaching ogre and flung both knives.
One clanked harmlessly from the head of Headstrong’s axe. The other stuck in her left biceps.
The ogre roared and charged.
Shroud was already slipping his bow from his shoulder. He jumped to his feet and backed away as he fitted an arrow to the string. He aimed at Headstrong’s eye, waited for her to bring her axe up to block, then dropped his aim. The arrow thudded into her stomach.
The gut is one of the only parts of an ogre not protected by bone. It’s a slow kill, though. If you want to bring her down, aim for the mouth, throat, or an eye.